


In Your Head

by lary



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Dubious Consent, Legilimency, M/M, Occlumency, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:19:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lary/pseuds/lary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the occlumency lessons, Harry finds out why Snape doesn't want anybody saying Voldemort's name. He wishes he hadn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own them.
> 
> I didn't use warnings, but the tags should give a fair picture. If looking for something happy or healthy or sane, it ain't here.

 

 

Snape withdrew from my mind, third time this evening. I wanted to yell out the ache of my head, wanted to smash his office, wanted to hit him.

 

“Pathetic,” Snape sneered. The worst part was that he was right. I couldn't keep him out of my head.

 

There weren't words strong enough to describe how much I hated this, having Snape in my thoughts, prying into my memories, week after week. I resented Dumbledore for insisting that I come here to be tortured by Snape over and over again. He wasn't interested in teaching me a thing, only too happy to shift through images of my life, to have something to humiliate me with.

 

“If you have rested quite long enough, we go again,” Snape said. “ _Legilimens_.”

 

There wasn't enough force in my push, not against Snape's overwhelming presence in my mind. Memories flickered before my eyes. Vernon locking a small boy into the cupboard, stomping off, uncaring of the cries. Mrs. Weasley hugging me at the door of the Burrow. Potions class, Snape in front of me, yelling at me not to say the Dark Lord's name. At that last one, something twisted in my core, a defiance that made me scramble for that satisfaction, made me reach for my grounding against his attack.

 

 _Voldemort_. I flung the name at Snape's presence in my mind, and there was an elevating sense of discomfort from him. With a speed and power I hadn't known was there, I grasped it. _Voldemort_. Now Snape flinched, and there! A definite crack in his mental shields. I attacked it like he'd attacked my mind, charging with everything I had. _Voldemort_. The crack in his defences was like a gap crumbling into a brick wall, and I tore at it with all my force. _Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort_.

 

Then, his mind gave in, like a laceration breaching open, and a memory surrounded me, thick and dark and vibrant.

 

The room was spacious and extravagant, with heavy silver curtains and dark wooden surfaces. A fire crackled in the fireplace in front of which Snape was standing. The sound was eerie in the silence, expectant, as if he wasn't really as alone as he seemed to be. The Snape in the memory was younger, a scrawny boy my age, and apparently he'd always been this ugly. But there was an unfamiliar look in his eyes, when his gaze flickered from under the greasy curtain of hair, sweeping the space. Fear. And although he was standing in heavy, black robes that screamed pure-blood money, his body language didn't match. The set of his shoulders was too rigid to be comfortable.

 

The next moment his muscles tightened, and he drew himself taller.

 

Soundlessly, an older wizard walked into the room. His presence was such that it made other details seem less real. Tall and handsome, with dark brown hair that fell softly, nearly reaching his shoulders. He approached Snape leisurely, and though he didn't smile, something in the dark gaze that was evaluating Snape gave me the sense that he was amused.

 

“Severus,” he said softly.

 

“My Lord.”

 

It was like I'd been dashed with cold water. Fuck. This was Voldemort?

 

No matter how hard I tried, my brain refused to connect the wizard before whom Snape was now kneeling with Voldemort. They looked nothing alike, this breathtakingly handsome man and the disgusting, snakelike creature that had emerged in the graveyard. Where Voldemort had ugly, deformed features, the wizard I was seeing had ones that wouldn't have been out of place on a Greek statue. Even the one commonality, the paleness of their skin, gave a completely different impression on a human body: rather than repulsive, it was beautiful, unearthly.

 

“Look at me,” he said, and Snape complied immediately, holding eye contact. “I am pleased with you, Severus. When Lucius told me about you, I admit that I expected another one of those little sycophants who are good for nothing except fawning over him. But you are different. Special. This is why I have chosen to honour you tonight.”

 

“Thank you, my Lord.”

 

The wizard smiled, though it wasn't a warm expression. Still, Snape seemed as inexplicably mesmerised by it as I found myself to be. Long, pale fingers came to caress Snape's jaw, and the older wizard leaned close. “For tonight only, as you become mine, Severus, you may address me by my name.”

 

For long moments, Snape's careful control gave. His face twisted into an expression that radiated fearful surprise. But as the silence grew heavier, Snape seemed to collect himself, his eyes becoming shuttered, his features so blank it made me think he was resigning himself to any fate.

 

“I am honoured, Voldemort.” Something in the way Snape choked out the name drove it home to me like nothing else in the memory had so far been able to – _this really was Voldemort_.

 

It was maybe that realisation which was making the difference, but as the older wizard spoke next, his tone chilled my bones.

 

“Undress, Severus.”

 

Fuck. This I'd never signed up for, but even as my apprehension rose, I couldn't find the will to leave Snape's mind and the memory.

 

Snape was sliding off the robes, baring himself, the dark fabric pooling around his legs where he kneeled on the velvet rug. The room wasn't bright, but the light emanating from the fireplace behind him was rather enough to see everything. So much pale skin, too much, and yet my eyes wouldn't comply and look away from Snape's flesh. It was surreal, staring at Snape's thin body, his bony frame and hairy chest, his arse. And _Snape's cock_ , hanging between his legs. Oh, hell. Surreal didn't even begin to cover it.

 

But then my attention snapped to the way Voldemort's wand was trailing on the skin of Snape's forearm. The moment seemed to stretch endlessly before he uttered an incantation that did what I was already expecting. The magic curled, shining like hot coals, the Dark Mark burning into the skin. It was clearly painful, Snape was clenching his teeth into an ugly grimace, but he didn't release a sound.

 

Not until Voldemort was finished and replaced the wand with his fingers, caressing over the Mark. Snape's expression morphed from pain into something else altogether. The older wizard laughed, low and soft.

 

“That's it. Let go, Severus.”

 

And then his hands were on Snape's skin, drawing and weaving patterns of magic across his chest, on his face, around his half-hard cock. Snape's moan shot deep to my core, curling around my spine and lingering there, hot and heavy and nearly suffocating. When Voldemort laughed again, that sound followed the same path, cold metal coiling in me and mixing with the heat. It was becoming too much, what was in front of me, and even more so the suspicion that I knew what was coming next.

 

But I was unable to tear myself away. And somehow it still came as a shock when Voldemort disrobed, lowering himself to lie beside Snape, running his hands over Snape's skin.

 

Snape was gone. He was on his back, eyes closed, and his body responded to each touch without restraint. His hips jerked, thrusting into the air above. His expression was practically begging for it, as were the quiet whimpers coming from his throat. It was repulsive. It was the most fascinating sight I'd ever seen.

 

I ignored my brain's screams to get the hell away. Self-loathing joined the mix of feelings roiling in me, making me feel tainted and dirty and disgusted.

 

And I stayed, watching Voldemort's cock sliding into Snape's arse, listening to Snape's unrestrained moans, to the seemingly endless sounds of flesh against flesh as they moved together.

 

It probably didn't truly last as long as it felt to me.

 

“Look at me.” Voldemort's order seemed to wake Snape from whatever the haze he seemed to have fallen into. His eyes, as they snapped open, were lucid and fearless, unapologetic of his arousal and the noises he was still making each time Voldemort drove into him. The touch on Snape's throat almost looked gentle, as the other man continued, “I want you to see me, to feel me.”

 

Whatever passed between them silently, I didn't want to know. Snape had quieted, but it only made each push more obvious, their flesh slapping together. But then fingers grasped Snape's forearm, covering the mark, and his whole body contracted.

 

“ _Voldemort_ ,” Snape gasped out as his cock pulsed, shooting come all over his chest and stomach.

 

Voldemort's eyes flashed scarlet and, suddenly, panic was slamming into me. No, fuck no, no more. I pushed, tried to get out of the memory. As I managed to pull away a little, Snape's mental shields seemed to find me and close in on me, ejecting me from his mind as they slammed shut.

 

Nausea was hitting me, I was dizzy. My skin crawled and I wanted to throw up. The dungeon floor was cold under my hands and knees. I couldn't find the strength to stand up, but strong fingers took a hold of my collar and pulled me up, slamming me back first into the wall.

 

“Enjoy yourself?” Snape asked, in a deadly voice. He was white with rage, angrier than I'd ever seen him, and the way his hands grasped my shoulders made me wonder if he was about to hit me.

 

“No, Sir.”

 

“No?” Snape's derisive laughter held an edge of madness that made me itch to back away, but I couldn't move. “And what is this, then?”

 

I yelped as his hand moved to my crotch, and _fuck_ , I was hard. “Wh-- what the hell are you doing?”

 

“Nothing.” He suddenly released me and pulled away. His face was once more an unreadable mask, as he turned and strode to his table, sitting down as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

 

“Um, I--”

 

“Get out, Potter.”

 

At that point, my self-preservation instinct finally kicked in, reminding me that _there_ was a good idea if I'd ever heard one. I forced my body to move enough to gather my bag and make for the door. But passing his table, his voice froze me to place, forced me to glance at him.

 

“One word about what you saw, to anybody,” Snape said, “and I will make sure they also hear that you were aroused, watching your parents' murderer fuck me. Is that clear?”

 

The words were like a physical blow. “Yes, Sir,” I choked out.

 

“Now get the hell out of my sight.”

 

He didn't need to tell me twice.

 

 


End file.
